Prayers
by Russet022
Summary: A quick character study of a paladin.


A/N: I probably own nothing. Blizzard, however, owns a small chunk of my soul... I think there might be a couple direct quotes from the Hearthglen quest line in here, so, those aren't mine. Also, you know, spoilers or whatever, just in case.

Prayers

_Now I lay me down to sleep…_

For Ellinaer, saying a prayer at bedtime was a habit. This had been unavoidable, really, with a paladin for a father and a priest for a mother. Some children of parents with faith struggled with their parents' ideals. Not Ellinaer. Faith came to her as naturally as breathing. She had been one of those people, when she was younger, whose faith had made other people uncomfortable. Though she had since learned to temper it a bit, she still truly meant the (usually) rote 'Light bless' one said after someone sneezed. She truly meant the simple grace she insisted on saying before every meal; this was another habit her parents had instilled in her. Most people thought Ellinaer was simple because she clung to her childhood prayers like a safety blanket, because she believed in an honest day's work, in fighting for a just cause, in the healing power of an earnest blessing. Maybe she _was_ simple. But she dared anyone who had seen her fight to mistake simple for stupid. She had better things to do than listen to those who would never believe.

_I pray the Light my soul to keep._

Ellinaer was one of Stormwind's orphans. She'd never had much, and no one had ever given her much thought. Her faith, outside the Cathedral walls, had only served to isolate her from the other poor and lost. She was astounded, then, when she heard that the Highlord of the Argent Crusade, one of the first paladins, and the hero of whom her father had spoken the most highly, had asked, by name, to see her. The borrowed horse deposited her in front of the grey-haired paladin, and she shook, just a little, in something like awe. He was only a man, she knew, despite the shining sword he wielded, but perhaps, seeing him as just another human increased her awe, rather than diminished it. She had dreamed of being such a hero. And here he was, welcoming her with all the courtesy due to the hero of that dream, saying sincerely that it was truly a pleasure to meet her. She couldn't speak. The words stuck in her throat, but he seemed to know what she wanted to say. He offered her a sad smile. "You look just like your mother, Ellinaer. If you have half her tenacity, you will be an asset to any ally." A million questions whirled in her head—her parents had never talked about the war, much—but before she could ask about her father, she found herself being ushered from Tirion's presence. The quest to kill a tower of gnolls, important, simple, was unable to drive the Highlord's words from her mind.

_And if I die before I wake…_

The taint of necromancy lay thick in the glade. The sour smell of it hung in the air. Ellinaer wrinkled her nose. She knew there were people, not just the primitive gnolls here, who actively practiced dark magics. They delved for the secrets of death and demons, seeking—scrabbling—in the dark for power to fill their souls. Ellinaer couldn't understand the appeal. She'd known emptiness, she'd seen the dark; for one low moment she'd even been half tempted. She wouldn't die like her parents. She'd be strong…But as she'd cried herself to sleep, she'd murmured her mother's prayers over and over, and by morning, she had known. Those who lived in the Light would one day die in the Light. And those who denied the Light would live bereft of that comfort, and no amount of preaching or beseeching would show them what they were missing. Take this mage, for example, the one who had turned traitor. She could see through his lies and aggression to the fear that consumed him. She wondered, even as the night elf she had been helping began to worry about the Highlord's reaction to the mage's death, if perhaps the mage couldn't have been saved. She was a little sorry that they'd never know.

_I pray the Light my soul to take._

Ellinaer winced as she stood once more before Tirion Fordring, his face a stern mask. She barely heard his scolding words, a cold weight in the pit of her stomach. She'd disappointed her father's hero. Her thoughts spiraled: _She'd never amount to anything, like the street kids who laughed at those who chose to stay in the orphanage, those who died young from malnutrition and winter ills…_ The Highlord's tone suddenly lightened. "…you slay the traitor that we've been hunting down for weeks." His stern mask broke into a smile. "Well done." Ellinaer blinked, stunned. Then, tentatively, she smiled as well. No one had ever told her that the Highlord had a sense of humor. In a whirl of giddiness, she accepted his praise, certain that she could not be happier. When people in the future asked if there was a defining moment when she knew she would be a hero, she would point to this memory…Tirion's smile became just slightly melancholy as she turned to go. "Oh, and Ellinaer," he said, "your father would be proud." On second thought, she might just keep this memory to herself.


End file.
